


Third Time

by Birds_wings_fire



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birds_wings_fire/pseuds/Birds_wings_fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria and Natasha's third time together, sunlight, the importance of names</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time

**Author's Note:**

> The characterization may be off, I'm not super fannish about MCU, just playing in the sandbox

In the quiet moments, huddled in the back of a dusty truck after a mission, stone-faced at a S.H.I.E.L.D meeting, or alone in some strange, temporary bed, Natasha’s mind wanders. Years of discipline, of training and focus, of walls built up brick by crumbling brick, fall away at the memories she carries tucked into a corner of her mind. 

Maria, sitting back on her knees, hair down and messy. Maria, her breath hitched and shallow, looking up to meet Natasha’s eyes, her parted lips wet and slick, sending sparks through her body as she turns her head to kiss the inside of Nat’s thigh.

“Natasha,” Maria’s voice is low, husky. Nat pulls her up onto the bed. Her eyes closed, she feels Maria’s body cover her own, tastes herself on her mouth.

//

The first time they fell into bed together, a tangle of limbs and tossed clothing, tequila and exhaustion smoothed over the awkwardness, the hesitant dance of firsts. The second time, they were frenzied—whether due to grief or loss or the memory of a city in flames, there was no hesitation, no words, they fucked hard, Natasha losing herself in the moment, leaving behind purple bruises to bloom like night flowers on Maria’s skin.

Afterward, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, Natasha was surprised to see the red lines Maria left on her back. She touched them softly for days after, until they healed, shivering at the memory of Maria’s deep, quiet moans, her voice turning to a sob as she came.

The third time is the most surprising.

Almost dawn, Natasha sits outside Maria’s office, gazing distractedly through the latest case folder, carefully refusing to look through the glass. Maria has worked through the night and Natasha finds herself parked on the couch outside, looking busy but, really, waiting. She stifles a yawn and listens to the sounds of Maria moving around the room; papers rustle, drawers shut, finally a briefcase closes and Natasha feels herself tensing.

Then Maria is standing in front of her, quiet and solid. Natasha looks up, every word she knows, in every language, suddenly stilled. Maria reaches out a hand tentatively, letting it settle lightly, so lightly, over Natasha’s.

Natasha swallows hard and looks up, “Agent Hill.” 

“Natasha,” Maria’s voice is shy and Natasha feels a sudden flooding of heat at the sound of her name spoken by that quiet, certain voice. “Nat, come with me?” 

There are so many things Natasha wants to say, but all she can do is stand and nod. Maria doesn’t smile, exactly, but her face softens, an unclenching of the jaw, relief flooding through.

Natasha follows her to the elevator, to the street, a taxi, where she is shocked to find that Maria has taken her hand, their fingers entwined.

Finally they stand at the doorway of Maria’s bedroom, smiling at each other quietly as shadows play across the bedspread.

In what she will later think of as a sober daze—all blur and clarity at once—Natasha feels like she’s standing outside of herself, watching her own hand rise to Maria’s face, fingers trailing across her cheek.

Maria’s eyes flutter shut and she leans into Natasha’s hand, her own arms reaching for Nat’s hips, pulling her closer.

Outside the open window, in the new sunlight, the symphony of city streets picks up on its cue—cars speed past, voices murmur, and beneath it all, a hint of birdsong.

//

Natasha is seldom surprised. She knows how to take her pleasure, comes almost perfunctorily—a moment of silent release—no muss, no fuss, no aftershocks. But here, in this sun-splashed room, balancing against the bed with Maria on her knees, tongue buried inside her, moaning softly against her as she grazes her teeth lightly against Nat’s clit, Natasha feels untethered. 

On the brink, on an edge, her hands in Maria’s hair, her legs trembling as Maria’s tongue moves faster, harder against her, Natasha bites down hard on her lip, her body rigid, every nerve burning at the center where Maria sucks on her clit with just the right amount of pressure, at just the moment when Natasha gasps and comes undone.

A buzzing in her ears, a sense of vertigo, Maria smiling up at her.

“Come here,” Natasha breathes, pulling Maria onto the bed. Their lips meet, on Maria’s tongue Natasha tastes her own sharp musk and underneath that, something almost sweet.

“Nat,” Maria says, straddling Natasha’s thigh as she grinds herself against it, hot and wet through the thin fabric of her underwear.

“Natasha.”

Maria says her name like a dream she had once and only just remembered. Natasha shivers beneath her, thrusting her hips to match Maria’s rhythm.

“Can I touch you?” Maria asks, stroking Natasha’s cheek, bending to drop soft, shivering kisses on her collarbone, while the fingers of her right hand tangle lazily in the hair between Natasha’s legs.

“Mmm, didn’t you already?” Natasha smiles, tries for a smirk but fails. “What about—what about you? It’s your turn—“

“Shh, it’s okay, I want to,” Maria mutters, balancing on her elbow, fingers trailing lightly across sodden curls, dipping occasionally to barely brush against Natasha’s clit, making her whole body pulse in one single thrum of _want_.

“Please,” Natasha whispers, finally, closing her eyes, sheets bunched up in her clenched fists.

“Look at me,” Maria says, her voice low and steady. “Please.”

Natasha shivers, her throat feels raw and clamped down. When she opens her eyes to meet Maria’s, two fingers slide easily inside her. 

Maria moves slowly at first, gently, curling her fingers upward as her thumb circles Natasha’s clit, making her jump at the slightest hint of pressure. For a second, Nat can’t help but admire the dexterity, the sureness of those strong hands—

And then Maria moves a little faster and Natasha can’t bite back her moan before it escapes. Maria’s eyes widen and her face flushes, she picks up speed, fingers pumping steadily as she grinds unconsciously against Natasha. 

She's climbing. “Nat, Nat,” Maria whispers, burying her face in Natasha’s neck, sucking and nibbling at her earlobe, her hot breath coming hard and fast on Nat’s skin.

Then the descent, Maria’s name poised on the tip of Natasha’s tongue, Maria’s named turned into a prayer, a litany of denied feelings, of need coated in the shame of want, calling for more, ringing, echoing, through the room.


End file.
